


Anything You Say Can and Will Be Held Against You (So Only Say My Name)

by supercoolygirl



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Fluff, Half-Sibling Incest, Smut, jon is drunk, sansa is sexy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-07-22 09:44:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7430833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supercoolygirl/pseuds/supercoolygirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the coronation, Sansa fulfils her desires in what is definitely only to secure her position, no other reason because she definitely does not fancy her brother no way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anything You Say Can and Will Be Held Against You (So Only Say My Name)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for an anonymous prompt on tumblr: After Jon is crowned, Sansa decides the best way to ensure her position is to make Jon hers. He is more than a little surprised to find her waiting naked in his bed that night.

That night, long after all the Lords have gone to bed and Jon is more than in his cups, dozing at the high table, Sansa sneaks off. She makes her excuses, feigning exhaustion and joy at the day’s events.

She cannot get the image of Littlefinger’s dangerous gaze out of her head. It was a warning, to her and to Jon. He is coming for them, and Sansa knows her position is too insecure for their liege lords to listen to them. She is the sister to a bastard. She is a Lannister and a Bolton. 

Her mind made up, Sansa makes her way to her chambers. As she opens the door, she sees her lady’s maid laying some towels.

“Sorry, m’lady,” the girl startles. “I assumed you’d be with his Grace, celebrating much later.”

“No bother, Arrana,” Sansa smiles. “I have no need of you this evening, but his Grace seemed distracted downstairs. When you go down to the kitchens, could you ask one of his servants to stir him and ensure he goes to his rooms? I am rather too exhausted.”

“Of course, m’lady,” the girl curtsies and exits by the discreet entrance.

Sansa hurries to change. She struggles a little with the laces in her haste and gets stuck in her shift when she pulls it over her head. She almost wishes she had asked Arrana to stay and help her change, but she cannot risk the younger girl knowing her plans.

She leaves her hair in its braids, better to keep it out of the way, then strips off her smallclothes. She throws on her finest nightrail, ties a robe around her and sneaks off to Jon’s chambers, her heart in her throat.

Gods, what is she doing? She must be mad. He is her brother… She swallows deeply in order to avoid thinking on it too much.

She presses her back to Jon’s door, looking left and right before opening it and creeping inside. Jon must still be downstairs. She hangs her robe and then her nightrail over the armchair in his solar, then makes her way through to his bedroom, where she lays on his bed.

She struggles to get comfortable. Should she take a sensual pose, as Petyr would have shown her? Or does Jon prefer innocence? She could lay there coyly…

A noise in the next room startles her. Jon must be back. She settles for lying on her side gracefully, facing his bedroom door.

Jon stumbles through blearily and begins stripping his tunic and his breeches. He almost trips over as he tugs his foot out of his breeches and Sansa cannot help her giggle. He hops around, one foot still in his breeches, and when he sees her his jaw drops.

“Sansa, what -?” he slurs, wide-eyed. Sansa’s eyes drop to his cock, bare before her, and she smirks.

“I’m securing my position, your Grace,” she replies in the sultry voice Petyr taught her.

“Your position as my sister?” he blurts. Sansa flickers her gaze to his cock again, which is twitching. Her smirk grows.

“My position as your lover,” she beckons him. He is too drunk to know the difference and Sansa cannot care. His guilt in the morning will be enough to secure her in Winterfell, even if she would prefer his love.

She is no fool. She has seen Jon’s intimate glances and for all the time she spent with Lannisters she does not care. She has tortured herself over her feelings enough. They have earnt love, and she will talk Jon round. It will be worth it for her position as Lady of Winterfell. It will be even more worth it if she has him.

He trips over himself as he falls towards her, spellbound. “You want me?” he wonders.

“Who wouldn’t, your Grace? You are King in the North and a handsome one at that. A magical, mystical King,” she bites her lip as Jon reaches the side of the bed. He practically falls on top of her.

“This is wrong, Sansa,” he mutters into her ear, but she can tell he does not care and is not thinking, for his cock is fully hard now and pressing into her hip. She reaches for it and tries to guide him between her legs.

“No no no no no no,” he says, shaking his head into the crook of her neck. “We do this for you.” He pokes the space between her breasts and sniggers. “Love you, sweetling.” He kisses her shoulder.

He kisses the place where her collar becomes her breast, then kisses her breast. He suckles her nipple and Sansa moans. He looks up at her. “Is this real?”

Sansa strokes his hair and smiles sweetly. Jon giggles again and shakes his head. 

“Doesn’t matter, s’pose.”

He suckles her other nipple and presses a trail of kisses down her belly. He swirls his tongue in her belly button. “I’ve dreamt of this so long, sweetling,” he mumbles, “Hope it’s real.”

Sansa lets her eyes flutter back into their sockets as Jon’s mouth finds her cunt. He is hardly taking his time, but she does not care. If he can be this drunk and this open with her, nothing will matter again.

He flicks his tongue over the top of her cunt before swiping up from base to tip. He lathes his tongue over her clit several tongue before shoving it roughly into her.   
Sansa groans at the sweet torture and he responds with greater fervour, loving her with his mouth until she cries out and tightens around him.

“What was that?” she demands breathlessly.

“S’called the Lord’s kiss, I think,” Jon slurs, pressing a kiss to the inside of her thigh. 

“D’you like it?”

“Mmm. Maybe try again so I know for sure?” Sansa asks coyly. Jon grins and presses his mouth to her again until she peaks a second time. This time after she releases he moves up her body to kiss her mouth for the first time. The taste of herself on his tongue is titillating – exhilarating and sensual all at once. She rolls her hips into Jon’s and she is so slick he slides in almost as though he belongs there.

It does not take long and Sansa does not peak again, but she enjoys it more than she thought possible nonetheless. His grunts of pleasure are not repulsive, for the first time, and when he sighs her name as he spills inside her Sansa finds herself sorrowful that it is over, not glad. She kisses his cheek and strokes his hair as he collapses on top of her, breathing heavily.

“You’re gonna regret this in the morning if it’s real,” Jon says quietly, looking at her with as focused eyes as he can manage.

“Never,” she smiles. Jon rolls off her and pulls her head atop his chest, pressing his lips to her forehead as he has become wont to do lately. She snuggles into the familiar gesture.

“Sansa, can I ask why –”

“Not now, Jon,” she shushes. “Just enjoy the moment.”

She bosses him into a peaceful sleep and lies awake herself just a short while longer, relishing the feeling of comfort from a man for the first time in…well, ever.


End file.
